


You Have No Understanding of High Art

by Truth



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adult Situations, Death, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, F/M, Humor, M/M, Spoilers, Violence, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Varric tries to put together an epic regarding the Champion of Kirkwall and discovers a few difficulties en route.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have No Understanding of High Art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boingboing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boingboing/gifts).



> Contains significant game spoilers and a bias toward specific outcomes. The Hawke in this version is a male mage.

_Even young and untried, the Champion and his brother held the burning determination of the proud and the desperate. Surrounded by darkspawn, pursued from the ruins of their home, they pressed onward._

_Of such trials are heroes made, and in the flames of battle forged._

_At the time, however, they were simply young and hungry, fighting a running battle for survival that neither knew would take them from unknown refugees to men whose feats would echo in song and story._

_Let me tell you the story of the Champion of Kirkwall. I know, for I was there._

**

The regulars of the Hanged Man knew that a good story could always be found at the table closest to the tavern’s huge fireplace. It had become a favorite gathering place of nights, despite its distance from the bar.

During the day, however, you approached that particular table at your peril. This hadn't always been the case, but over the past few weeks the usually amiable dwarven storyteller had been inclined to snap at anyone unwise enough to distract him from his near-constant scribbling. Words covered the front and back of every scrap of paper that passed beneath his hands, many of them becoming a ball of scrap that was tossed into the fire with a muttered curse.

Even the barmaids had learned to tread warily, and considering the size of his tips and his usual jovial flirtatiousness?

“Varric, paper is _expensive_.”

“I can afford it.” The words were a growl as Varric turned away from the fire, allowing yet another effort to slowly unfold itself amidst the flames.

“ ‘- a romance doomed by -’ This isn’t another of your ‘thinly disguised guardsman with a heart of gold has a torrid romance with a whore and they run away together to become pirates and leave their tragic past behind’, is it? Not that they aren’t popular, but - “

“Would it kill you to finish your sentences? Those stories pay for themselves and the extra paper that you seem so concerned about as well.” Varric looked up at her with an atypical scowl. “What brings you to interrupt my efforts at ‘torrid’ romance, Rivaini? Gotten tired of sleeping your way through the templar recruits?”

“Repression brings out the most interesting habits when finally allowed an outlet, Varric. You should try it sometime.” Isabela kicked a chair away from the table and dropped into it. She opened her mouth to continue and paused, one eyebrow climbing upward. “Was it something I said?”

Varric stared at her, one hand fumbling for another sheet of paper. “Say that again... and then go get me a drink.”

“You want _me_ to get _you_ a drink?”

“And one for yourself, if you promise to shut up and let me write in peace.”

Half an hour later, two more sheets of paper had been consigned to the fire and a third was rapidly filling with words.

“Much as I find your writing enthralling, it’s the finished product that interests me. How long do you plan on -” Isabela’s jaw clipped shut at the dark look shot her by the dwarf. “Right. I’ll just get us another round of drinks then. On you.”

When she returned to the table, Varric was carefully tucking the sheet of paper away. He was still scowling and the expression did not lighten even as he took the offered mug.

“What’s wrong with you, Varric? You’ve been acting like someone dared put their fingerprints on your precious crossbow.”

“If someone laid hands on Bianca, I’d be in a wonderful mood,” Varric retorted, offering half of a very small smile. “I love bloodshed in the mornings.”

“Then what, exactly, is your problem?” Isabela jerked a thumb back toward the bar where the few morning patrons were goggling at Varric and his companion. “They warned me not to come over here when I went for the first round. Word is that you’ve been terrorizing anyone fool enough to come within three feet. This is a tavern, after all. If you want to hole up and woo the artistic muses with your moods, I’d think an abandoned shack in the Alienage might be a better choice.”

He blinked at her. “I... oh. Hmm. I suppose a few apologies are in order then.”

“I accept.”

“Not to you, Rivaini.”

“Bastard.” The label was applied with cheerful malice.

“ _My_ parents were married.”

“Now that is more like the Varric I know. Seriously, what’s going on in that fascinating and twisted mind of yours?”

Varric’s frown returned. “I... am having problems with a story.”

“If this is the one that’s being passed around the Blooming Rose, I really think that the only way you’ll get out of that is putting all of your thinly disguised characters together in a room and having some dissolute noble spring for an orgy of such epic proportions that they can all retire.”

“And how would you be in the way of seeing that one? As if I didn’t know.”

“Spill, then. Which story?”

There was a pause as Varric applied himself seriously to his drink. When he eventually surfaced for air, it was with a sigh. “ _The_ story. The one that’ll make me famous the world over. The one with the hero who’s also an apostate mage - and if you think that’s going to be an easy sell, you have another think coming. But if I can pull this off, I’ll be almost as famous as he is. Will be.”

Isabela laughed. “How could you possibly be having problems with _Hawke_? He’s practically writing your ridiculous acts of valor for you. I can get myself free drinks anywhere in town by repeating some of his more memorable acts of mouthing off to authority and having them reward him for his sass. No embellishment required.”

Varric scowled at her. “This isn’t a bar story, woman. It’s an epic, and epics have rules. You can bend a few and break one or two more, but there’s a form. The biggest obstacle is the bit about ‘apostate mage’ and it not being my description of the villain. I can’t go with the ‘refugee from a now-destroyed Fereldan Circle’ for much longer. I don’t think even Meredith believes it anymore, and you can’t put a lie that easily discovered in an epic anyway. If I want an audience to swallow the truth, and pay for the privilege, I need to stick very closely to the rest of the form.”

A barmaid managed to gather enough courage to actually approach the table and clear away several of the mugs. Varric managed to dredge up a smile and press some coin into her hand. “Keep them coming. I promise not to be any more disagreeable than usual.” At Isabela’s snort of laughter, he added another few coins. “She, however, can pay for her own drinks.”

“A _cheap_ bastard,” Isabela said.

“That’s how I stay rich.” Varric waited until the barmaid retreated before turning his attention back to Isabela. “So my problem is in fitting Hawke’s exploits into the appropriate heroic form.”

“I still fail to see the difficulty.” Isabela propped her booted feet on the table, ignoring the somewhat scandalized looks from some of the other patrons. “He’s heroic enough to be a templar, despite his mouth.” She paused, turning a somewhat speculative look into the flames of the fireplace beside them. “It’s a rather nice mouth.”

“Is that first-hand knowledge I hear? Not that it would surprise me, but I’d think that Hawke’d be taking a few more trips to Anders’ clinic were that the case.”

Isabela turned from the fire, eyebrows rising. “Varric... are you having problems writing about Hawke’s _love_ life?”

“Shhhh!” Varric winced, looking around to be certain she hadn’t been overheard. “What love life? He’s been to the Blooming Rose once or twice, but all they’ll tell me is what a nice guy he is. _Nice_. Whores don’t call people ‘nice’. I can’t use that, or even any amorous adventures there, and that’s if anyone were willing to talk about it in the first place. Maybe if he were a sword-swinging macho man with muscles inversely proportional to his intelligence, but he’s a mage. I have to play to the whole ‘in control of himself’ thing.”

“Except for his mouth.”

“Would you shut up about his mouth?” Frustration brought Varric’s voice to a volume that caused him to wince, looking around to be sure no one had actually heard that. “This is embarrassing enough without having to admit it publicly. Level with me. Have you slept with him, Rivaini?”

“Not for lack of trying.” Isabela made a face. “And the way he looks at me, I know he’s interested.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to figure out how you manage to lace your tunic so it doesn’t actually give in to the demands of gravity.”

“It’s a gift.”

“So you haven’t slept with him. Do you know anyone who has?”

Isabela considered the question. “I... no. I’d be willing to bet that he’s been spending more time with Anders than you think, however. I’ve run into him at the clinic more than once, and he wasn’t there for professional attention.”

“Anders?” Varric winced. “That’s not a conversation I want to have.”

“With me, or with him?”

“Both.” Varric slid out of his chair, reaching back to retrieve Bianca. “But I can’t go on without either turning Hawke into a chaste, Chantry wanna-be or giving him some kind of love interest. Inventing one won’t fit with the rest of the story, or at least not in any fashion that’ll fit with Hawke himself.”

“Your invented ‘Hawke, the Bare-Handed Slayer of Blood Mages’, you mean.”

“I’ll have you know that story is one of my most popular,” Varric said.

Isabela raised her mug. “To your intrepid investigation - and put in a good word for me.”

“Dream on, Rivaini. Even I can’t make a heroine out of a pirate queen. Not more than once, anyway.”

**

_The Champion of Kirkwall stood at the dockside, looking down at the bodies bobbing in the darkened waters. It had been a desperate struggle, one born of hatred and tragedy. The body of a young girl, daughter of a templar, lay behind them in the musty warehouse. Her story began with fear and ended with death and it was he who would have to bear the news to her grieving father._

_“Better to be dead than in the hands of the slavers.”_

_The Champion looked up, expression grim. “A needless death, brought about by baseless hatred and fear.”_

_“One man’s fear is another’s reality. You can’t cure the world of all its ills.”_

_“I can try.”_

**

Anders was never difficult to find. When not holding forth on the oppression of mages somewhere in Hawke’s immediate vicinity, he spent his hours ministering to the poor in his tumble-down ‘clinic’.

Varric could go on at some length about selflessness and charity, the inherent nobility of self-sacrifice and personal risk while attempting to better the lives of those who had nothing... but it didn’t sell very well with anyone but the Chantry crowd and the occasional very pious templar. That crowd always spent their spare coin on noble works, anyway. He had a wider audience in mind, and was wavering between Anders the Healer and Anders the Possessed Saint. The second one would be a very hard sell in an epic about Hawke, but maybe a small, secondary story....

“Varric.” For once, Anders wasn’t actually doing anything related to healing. In fact, the tiny clinic was almost deserted. Anders himself was sitting on the table often used for patients and watching a pair of children playing with a basket of kittens.

“Hello, Blondie. Contemplating an addition to your family?”

“What, a cat? Not at this time, no.”

“The look on your face calls you a liar.” Varric wasn’t going to try to sit beside Anders. The attempt would be bad for his dignity. “So. How’s the love life?”

Anders, who had been about to move out of respect for the inevitable crick in Varric’s neck, stopped. “My - what?”

“Damn it. I could’ve sworn... but no matter.”

“Oh no you don’t, dwarf.” Anders glowered down at him. “If this is another slur regarding the frequency of Isabela’s visits, those are strictly professional.”

“That’s what she said.”

Anders didn’t look particularly reassured. “I’ve read that story about the Ferelden refugee and the handsome, morally compromised healer, thanks. Your gift with words tends regrettably towards smut.”

“If it’s so regrettable, what were you doing reading it?” Varric grinned up at him. “Come now, share your sordid stories of sex and romance with uncle Varric.”

“I’ve seen how your family treats its relatives, and I’ll pass.” Anders struggled for a moment before rising from the table. “Come on, let’s find a place to sit more comfortably before the crick in your neck starts bothering _me_.”

Varric smirked.

They found a place on one of the rickety stairs that connected the somewhat awkwardly leveled alleys of Darktown and arranged themselves comfortably. As comfortably as possible upon splintered wooden planks, anyway.

“Out with it, Blondie,” Varric said. “I was there in the Fade, remember? I saw what happened there, and I happened to overhear at least part of your temper tantrum afterward, and if that wasn’t the wounded wrath of a possessed man scorned, I don’t know what it was.”

Anders looked away. “That was not for your ears, dwarf.”

“I get most of my best material that way. Come on, you know I’m your friend. You can tell me.”

“Stop wheedling. I have nothing to say.”

Varric frowned. “So something did happen between you two. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to make something up, and you know where that leads.”

“I refuse to star in one of your smutty stories, and if I find a single reference -”

“Give it up, Blondie.” Varric made a rude noise. “You know I’m writing about Hawke, and if you’ve been reading my more popular serials, you know that there has to be a love interest. Help me out here.”

“And be immortalized in morally suspect prose as the mage who tempted him from the straight and narrow and into a life of defying law and order? Thank you, Varric. That’s exactly how I always dreamed of being remembered.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

There was a long pause as Anders twisted to look down at Varric, considering.

“I wouldn’t. Ever.”

Reluctantly, Anders shifted to look him directly in the face. “Maybe you wouldn’t at that.”

“So tell me, already.”

“Why aren’t you harassing Merrill?”

“Because she looks at everyone as if they’ve just kicked her puppy. You save that particular look for Hawke and I want to know why. With as many juicy and personal details as possible.”

“Varric.”

Varric shrugged, unrepentantly. “I never said I didn’t want to know, just that I wouldn’t publish anything that made you out to be the sort who wore a dark cloak and hunted innocent templar recruits through the streets at night.”

“Thanks. Really.”

“Now, Blondie, or I’ll have to go away and write another chapter about that beautiful, innocent Ferelden refugee, adrift in the bad city and the handsome apostate who is helping her - for a, how did you put it, ‘morally suspect’ price.”

“I hate you so very, very much.”

“The best sign of a good storyteller is when their characters are instantly recognizable.”

“Fine. I... I suppose I was hoping that there would be something. Something between us.” Anders shrugged uncomfortably. “He... flirts. He’s a mage. He’s attractive.”

“Half the city knows two of those three things.”

“It’s closer to three out of three these days, and I’m worried. About him, for him... and when he spoke to that demon, I thought - I thought we’d lost him. That I’d lost him.” Varric watched, worried, as Anders closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I hadn’t realized how much that would hurt, and at the time it didn’t hurt. I was, Justice was, angry and there wasn’t room for anything else. Then he killed me.”

“You attacked him, in case that part slipped your mind.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“It was.”

Anders hunched his shoulders. “Part of me. When he came here, I thought he’d lied. He’d lied and the demon had taken the boy and rewarded him and....”

“I heard that part. You remember that I was _there_ , right? Why didn’t you just ask me? Or did you think I’d gotten a percentage of whatever the demon was giving out that day?”

“Maybe I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

“Maybe you were letting your hormones think for you.” Varric made a face at him. “Get to the juicy stuff. I couldn’t hear most of the rest of it from the doorway, but I would’ve laid money that he was going to kiss you, despite the attempted murder on both sides and the resultant melodrama.”

“He almost did.”

“See, I knew there was more to it. Almost? This conversation is going to take forever if I have to pry this out of you one sentence at a time.” Varric reached out to prod at Anders’ chest. “Speak.”

“I - I didn’t believe him. He smiles and he mocks and he flirts and... I didn’t realize that he was genuinely offering something until he walked away. He was trying to repair what we’d shattered and I didn’t believe.” Anders leaned back against the wall, staring up at the dark and distant sky. “I can never tell when he’s trying to be sincere and I think that this time he was looking for something I wasn’t willing to give.”

“I was hoping to keep from turning this story into a tragedy. You’re not helping me with that goal, Blondie.”

“I sincerely wish I had more to offer.” Anders sighed and let the back of his head strike gently against the wall. “Too much emotion, too much betrayal and no matter how deep my feelings run, I simply couldn’t trust him.”

“Couldn’t? Or can’t?”

“You see too much, Varric.”

“I’m told that it’s part of my charm.” Varric pulled himself to his feet. “Rivaini was sure that his recent moodiness was due to succumbing to your somewhat deranged wiles, but I have my own suspicions.”

“Then why torment me?” Anders was still staring upward, ill at ease with the entire conversation.

“Because, despite the difficulty of selling an apostate as a hero, much less one that carries on with other men, you’d’ve made a nice, semi-tragic choice of lover. A Grey Warden with a dark past? There’s an audience for that. The choices I have left are all a bit more... difficult.”

“Imagine my sympathy.”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?”

“Good-bye, Varric.”

**

_The Champion’s constant struggle to balance power with freedom was not one easily understood, even by those closest to him. Perhaps it was that lack of understanding which found him so often alone, even when surrounded by those who chose to support him in his struggle._

_The Grey Warden, his own break with tradition and expectation, might have been thought to have the best understanding of what drove the Champion, yet something held them apart. The Grey Warden would be forever isolate, unable to trust or to truly touch another, held aloof by the being sharing his skin. What might have been a close companionship, a bond deeper than brotherhood, was never to be truly realized._

_The Champion brought us Hope. The Grey Warden, alone in the darkness of his personal quest, was beyond his reach, cradled by the cold perfection of Justice._

**

“Varric? What are you doing in my office?” Aveline paused in the doorway, surprised. The expression lasted only a minute, however, fading rapidly to suspicion. “Step away from my desk and put both hands in the air.”

“I wouldn’t steal from you, Aveline.”

“No, but you’re not above reading everything in my desk.”

“Your trust is touching. Also, that had better not be a short joke.”

“You’re not moving.”

Varric sighed, stretching to place a sheaf of paper on the table. “It was just one of my own, confiscated manuscripts. Paper is expensive, you know.”

“You can afford it.” She crossed the office with a faint clank of metal and took the pages, leafing through them. “It’s your own fault, you know. If you wouldn’t write about the guard, I wouldn’t have to confiscate your manuscripts. Besides, someone bought this from you, more’s the pity. It’s not your property anymore.”

“Telling stories is what I do. Is it my fault that people like to hear about the city guard? You should be proud.”

Avenline gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I’d be prouder if those stories weren’t awash in various exploits of sin and vice.”

“What you mean is, ‘thank you for glamorizing the position of city guard, Varric. Enlistment numbers have been climbing’.”

“Who let you in here?”

“So they are climbing. Oh come now, Aveline. You love me. You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

“Varric!”

“Fine, fine. I let myself in. Admittedly, I had an accomplice to distract your many fine guards, but you really ought to upgrade the locks on this office. And on your desk.” Varric settled himself into her chair and steepled his fingers. “So. I know you keep up on the city gossip as a matter of course, and I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

“You’re going to ask me questions? That is the outside of enough. Impertinent dwarven liars can -”

“Can ask very nicely? Can offer to buy you a drink when you’re off-duty? Can give you information regarding a certain group of thieves and their plans vis a vis a certain warehouse sometime tonight?”

“That drink had better be two drinks, and this information had better be very, very good.”

Varric’s smile became a wide grin. “I knew you’d see this my way.”

“And I’ll be keeping that bit of... filth.”

“Not finished reading?”

“Varric!”

Four hours found the captain of the guard striding into the Hanged Man with a decided scowl on her face. The smarter patrons found a great deal to interest them in their drinks as she passed. Seated beside the fire and surrounded by candles, Varric was scribbling something on a scrap of paper and responding absently to Isabela’s jibes.

“And here she is, the lady of the evening - or is that hour? I always get those two confused.”

“Isabela.” Aveline did not take a seat, folding her arms and glaring at Isabela and Varric. “I had assumed this was to be a private conversation?”

“Are _you_ the one sleeping with Hawke? That’d break poor Donnic’s heart, you know.”

“Varric!”

“Rivaini, stop scandalizing the captain. Aveline, she’s just leaving. I swear.”

“I always have to hear the juicy stuff second hand.” With a roll of her eyes, Isabela rose to her feet. “And I _will_ hear about this, won’t I?”

“Possibly read aloud at your trial,” Aveline agreed flatly.

Varric didn’t stop laughing until Isabela disappeared into the crowd entirely. “Ah, Aveline. I should’ve sent her away before you arrived, but I was a bit distracted.”

“Distracted?”

“Oh, stop glaring and sit down. Have a drink - or even two.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Then sit. I have a problem that I need a little help with.”

“Like the last one? No.”

Varric smiled engagingly up at her. “It’s about Hawke.”

Aveline sat down.

“I thought you’d see it my way. See, here’s the thing. I have this... epic.”

“You’ve said. More than once.”

“Patience, Aveline. Where was I? Oh yes, epic. The thing is, most epics have a love story, even if it’s just a brief mention of a torrid affair. Now, the problem is -”

“I’m not going to give you the name of Hawke’s affair, torrid or no.”

“You mean you know who it - of course you do, you’re blushing.”

“No. Hawke is entitled to at least _some_ privacy and - ”

“And?” Varric’s fingers were twitching as he leaned forward in his chair. “ _And_?”

“And it’s over, anyway. Leave him alone, Varric. He took it very hard.”

“Over? It can’t be over! I haven’t even started it yet!”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there. In any case, the answer remains no.”

“But - but how did you find out? Were you spying on him again?”

Aveline flushed. “Yes and no. The guard patrols in that part of Hightown do keep an eye on him, but as for how I found out - he told me.”

“Told you. _Told_ you? Just like that?”

“Unlike certain dwarves, I’m known to keep other people’s confidences,” Aveline said.

“That really hurt.”

“I’ll bet.” Aveline rose to her feet. “In any case, if that’s all?”

“You don’t have time for a drink with an old friend?”

“You’re not that old.”

Varric grinned. “But I am that friendly. Come on, Aveline. Just one drink?”

“How could I possibly resist that face?” With a sigh, Aveline again took a seat. “But only one. I’m not going to let you attempt to make me drunk so you can pump information out of me.”

“Perish the thought.”

“One of us would.”

**

_The tenacity of Kirkwall’s Captain of the Guard was legendary, only slightly less well known than her severe beauty. Her dedication to the law and the people of Kirkwall made her a strange choice as companion for the Champion, at least on the surface._

_Her presence by his side provided him with both protection and assistance as he worked to pull the shattered factions of the city back into some semblance of order. Her strict moral code and her adherence to her duty made her a figure admired by the citizens and feared by slavers and thieves alike._

_The personal tragedy which brought her to the Champion’s side strengthened, rather than weakened, their relationship and it was to him she turned when events in the city spiralled out of control._

_When the riots overtook the city, it was she who accompanied the Champion through the burning streets, shielding their progress as they fought their way to the Keep._

**

“Well?”

“Why are you so interested in Hawke’s love life, Rivaini? I have professional interest as an excuse. Or are you just interested in improving your chances with him?”

“Hawke’s life in general is a never-ending carnival, and who can turn down free entertainment that comes with its own bodyguard?” Isabela moved to lean against the back of Varric’s chair. “I like fights I can win, you know that. Therefore, it is in my best interests for Hawke to be happy and I think we can both agree that he hasn’t looked particularly happy for weeks.”

“He and Anders had a falling out.”

“Anders argues with everyone and sooner or later feelings get hurt.” Isabela waved a hand. “Tempest in a teapot. If it’s interfering with their sex life, they need to make up and get the mood around here back to puppies and rainbows.”

“Kittens,” Varric said.

“What?”

“With Anders, it’s kittens and rainbows.”

“I’m going to pretend I know what that means and move along with our conversation. What is keeping them from some really exciting make-up sex?”

Varric tipped his head to give her a sardonic look. “The fact that they don’t seem to have been having sex at all, although it sounds like it might’ve been a really good possibility, once upon a time.”

“So it boils down to Kitten, Fenris or the Choir Boy.”

“Even I wouldn’t believe that Hawke would try to seduce the Choir Boy - or want to.”

“So I’ll check with Kitten and you deal with dreamy-but-deadly?”

Varric’s eyebrows went up. “You’re passing up a chance to get into the elf’s pants? Are _you_ feeling all right?”

“Eh, I spent some time with him yesterday and he told me he wasn’t interested.”

“Was he looking at your rather impressive breasts when he said it?”

Isabela hesitated. “In point of fact... no. That’s odd. He normally shows at least some interest. Maybe I should have another go. I could loosen the top ties again, that usually does it.”

“Don’t you have a small elf girl to interrogate?”

“Fine, but I want to hear all the juicy details, whatever they are. Remember that, Varric.”

“Would I hide things from you?”

“Ha ha.”

**

_As beautiful as she was deadly, the … scrap this. There’s no way to work Rivaini into an epic decently unless she’s the love interest who is busy betraying our hero and sleeping with either his best friend, his brother or his mortal enemy - or all three._

_Possibly while stealing their family heirlooms._

**

The door to Fenris’ somewhat broken-down residence was unlocked. This didn’t surprise Varric, but he made very certain that his entrance caused a certain amount of noise. Once inside, he called out, “It’s just me, elf. None of this ‘decapitate first and ask questions later’ nonsense. You can get that past Aveline only when she doesn’t actually know any of the victims.”

“Varric.” Fenris stepped out of the shadows behind the door and looked down at the dwarf without showing any particular welcome.

“Why does everyone greet me that way lately?”

“What way?”

“As if I were a bill collector or a relative in search of a loan. In your case, an unholy combination of the two.” Varric closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “It’s enough to make me feel unwelcome.”

“You are not unwelcome.”

“It’s hard to tell with you.”

Fenris turned away, vanishing further into the darkened house.

“And it wouldn’t kill you to get rid of some of these bloodstains!” With a sigh, Varric gave up and headed after the elf.

No further words were exchanged until they were both seated at a table somewhat further within the dilapidated house. Varric glanced around at the vast array of empty bottles and frowned.

“This... seems a bit excessive, even for you. What’s going on, elf? Bad dreams?”

“I don’t think so.” Fenris found a bottle that still had some alcohol in it. He slid it across the table to Varric. “I don’t tend to remember my dreams.”

“Not even after that business in the Fade? I have them often enough.”

“That was a waking nightmare and one I pray never to repeat. Did you come here to ask me about my dreams, Varric?”

“No. I came to ask you about Hawke.”

“What of him?”

“Well, I’m writing this epic, as you have no doubt heard. About Hawke. I find myself somewhat short of information in certain... areas.”

“Hawke does not share confidences with me. I doubt there’s anything I could tell you.”

Varric lifted the bottle and weighed it in his hand, eyes drifting to the red now visible in Fenris’ normally solid black ensemble. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“I’m saying that there are three books lying on the end of this table - and I seem to recall your saying something about not being able to read? Unless Rivaini has been giving you lessons, I think Hawke the most likely candidate.”

Fenris glanced at the books. “Hawke is no longer giving me lessons.”

“Ahhh. Does this have something to do with that whole emotional interlude with the crazy woman in the caves? Still not speaking?”

“Something like that.”

“Why do I have the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“I do not wish to discuss it.” There was an edge to Fenris’ voice that had Varric holding up both hands.

“Fine, fine. I can take a hint.”

“If applied with a heavy enough object.”

“Let’s just... drink.”

“Let’s.”

**

_There are scars that never heal and a darkness that will never lift, no matter how desperately the light is sought. The Champion himself, never bound by the rules of any Circle, would forever be outside of society’s rules. It was almost inevitable that he would draw to himself other outcasts, abused, pursued and attacked by those who wished to control or destroy them._

_One such was found in elf Fenris, a former Tevinter slave and warrior. His own scars were of the literal variety, pure lyrium, and they gave him a deadly power. Perhaps it is unsurprising that the two outcasts would be drawn together, save for the hatred of all mages spawned by Fenris’ treatment at the hands of his cruel Tevinter masters._

_Like draws to like, perhaps, for despite this seemingly insurmountable obstacle it was Fenis who became closer to the Champion than any other._

**

“Kitten is not only not having sex with Hawke, I thought that she was going to lose her ability to speak once I explained exactly what I meant by ‘sharing a bed’.”

“Did you have to draw her diagrams?”

“I think the hand-puppets helped.” Isabela cocked one hip and leaned against the bar. “Did you have better luck, or do we start torturing employees at the Blooming Rose until someone talks?”

“Ha ha.” Varric reached up to take his mug from the bar. “I know exactly who _was_ sleeping with Hawke, but Aveline was right. It’s over, but I have no idea why, and it’s driving me nuts.”

“Not Fenris. _Please_ tell me it’s not Fenris.”

“Lose a bet?”

“No, but... I can’t stand the thought of not having managed to hook up with them while they were still together. Fenris and _Hawke_? Seriously?”

“Get that look off your face, girl. If you’re going to indulge in depraved fantasies, have the courtesy to do it where I don’t have to watch.”

“Maybe I could get them back together? Catch one of them on the rebound? The sex just after a break-up can be searingly hot.” Isabela looked down just in time to catch Varric rolling his eyes and reached to rest her mug on his head. “Fine. I’ll keep it to myself. For now. But - how did you find out? I can’t imagine him just telling you, ‘Oh, yes, I was warming Hawke’s bed but now it’s over’.”

“He didn’t, and if you don’t remove that mug you’ll have to retrieve it from across the bar - possibly with your hand still attached.”

“Then how do you know? Did you get him drunk? Tearful confessions of having been seduced by a mage? My curiosity is killing me.” Isabela prudently removed her drink.

“If only that were true.” Varric sighed. “If you had eyes, or ever used them to look above a man’s waist, you’d’ve seen it too.”

“Why are you so despondent? You know who he’s been sleeping with. Doesn’t that solve your problems?”

“You’re kidding, right? No one wants to read about a relationship that goes nowhere. Someone has to die or be betrayed or turn out to be someone’s long lost sibling. ‘I slept with a guy, we broke up, things are really depressing’ just doesn’t _scan_.”

“Go back to writing about orgies, Varric. They’ve got less literary value, but at least they end happily.”

“Thanks a lot.”

**

_While friendships sprang up amongst the companions of the Champion, it would be foolish to assume that there were no rivalries, although most were of a friendly bent. We each had our place within Kirkwall, and alliances made things easier for us all as the mood within the city became darker._

_Perhaps the most interesting friendships were those undertaken by the pirate captain - although ‘friendship’ was less accurate than ‘mutually beneficial shenanigans’._

_Usually mutual._

_The Captain of the Guard, for one, would never forgive or forget. The others seemed content enough to pick up the shattered pieces of their various relationships with the pirate after that business with the Arishok, but some things can’t ever be properly repaired._

**

“So, Fenris... I hear that you’ve had a recent break-up. Perhaps you and me?”

“No.”

“Not even if I - “

“Not _ever_.”

“Damn it.”

**

“Why do all of our friends run when they see you coming, Rivaini?”

Isabela shrugged, causing a related motion somewhere in the area of her low neckline that brought all motion in the tavern to a temporary and fully appreciative halt. “Apparently none of them are interested in rebound sex.”

“In other words, you came on very, very strong to all three of them, and none of them are ready to stop moping yet. Just tell me you didn’t hit on them as a group or even suggest the possibility.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe I _should_ be writing about pirate queens. It’d at least make me famous in all the waterside dives, even if it wouldn’t confer the sort of immortality I’m after.”

“I’ve got stories to share, Varric.”

“Then _I’d_ need to start visiting Blondie more often. I think I’ll pass.”

“Spoilsport.”

**

_Consider writing Rivaini her own saga. It would be very popular in certain quarters, and banned in most of the others._

**

“What brings you here, Varric?” Anders had been working hard that morning, and the dwarf had found a place to sit and wait until the clinic traffic had died down somewhat.

“Curiosity. Tell me, Blondie, have you noticed the elf’s new accessories?”

“I’ll assume you mean Fenris.” Anders made a face. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we do not exactly get along, much less make a practice of seeking each other’s company.”

Varric chuckled. “Of such opposing viewpoints are melodramas of great passion spun.”

“Very poetic, but I don’t plan on spinning anything with that one, save perhaps a noose. The feeling is entirely mutual.”

“Technically you tie a noose, you don’t spin it.”

“Don’t tell me you came all the way to Darktown simply to make jokes at my expense. My time could be far better spent in any number of ways.”

“Call it a friendly impulse. I felt that you should be warned, so as not to make any tactless comments,” Varric said.

The look Anders turned on him held a fine blend of frustration and impatience. “Tactless comments. To who, the elf?”

“I suppose, but that’s a ship that’s already sailed. No, I was thinking more of Hawke.”

“Your stories might occasionally be engaging, but riddles are not your forte. Out with it,” Anders said.

“Hawke and Fenris. Fenris and Hawke. Engaging in what Isabel would probably refer to as ‘the seaman’s knot’ or some other nautical improbability, accompanied by a saucy wink. Together.”

Anders opened his mouth, blinked, closed it, opened it again, closed it a second time.

“That’s a wonderful imitation of a fish, but I haven’t gotten to the part where I want you to practice tact.”

“Tact? Hawke and that, that - “

“They’ve apparently broken it off. Don’t look overjoyed just yet. I think they’re both regretting it - or something.”

“They should.” Anders had gone from horrified to relieved and had settled on grim. “I have a hard enough time imagining the elf with a mage of any description, but for Hawke to, to -”

“Try not to think about it too much. Who knows, maybe you still have a chance with him after all.”

“I’m suddenly not sure that’s such a good thing.”

Varric grimaced. “Look, Hawke is in a bad mood. Maybe you could try to cheer him up? And by ‘cheer him up’ I don’t mean list all the ways in which he’s better off without the elf. Can you manage that?”

“I promise nothing.”

**

_The rivalry between the Grey Warden and the former Tevinter slave ranged from the occasional verbal sparring to bitter arguments, flavored strongly by the inability of each to see the side of the other._

_The Champion strode a thin line between them, striving to keep their warring ideologies from pulling him too far to either extreme. No one else dared step between them, and their smaller conflict was a mirror of that which eventually tore Kirkwall entirely asunder._

_“No mage, however noble, can resist the call of blood magic when backed finally into a corner.”_

_“No mage? Not even the Champion?”_

_“He is... different.”_

_“Glorious double-standards you have there.”_

_“Do you believe the Champion would turn to blood magic?”_

_“No, but that’s not the point.”_

_“Isn’t it? You vacillate between preaching freedom for all mages and advocating death for those weak-willed enough to give in to the blandishment of demons. Given your own state, it seems that our hypocrisy varies only by scale.”_

_Years of suffering this eternal argument, played out daily, was no doubt of great aid to the Champion when forced to step between the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander as their own, similar squabble grew and expanded to eventually encompass all of Kirkwall._

**

“Varric, I need a favor.”

It was early, early enough that the last of the drunks had already crawled home or been ejected, but not so early that anyone had arrived to begin cleaning the detritus of the night before. Varric, his candles guttering and the fire low, had been concentrating hard enough that he’d missed the distinctive sound of Aveline’s armored footsteps.

“A favor? Isn’t it a little early for the day shift?”

“I’ve been up all night.” She dropped into a chair with a metallic clank. “So have you, from the look of things.”

“I lose track of the time, occasionally. What did you need, Aveline?”

“I need you to rein in the rapidly escalating insanity among your fellow males.” Aveline blew out a frustrated sigh. “Donnic was talking to Fenris when Anders stopped by to ask me a question and you would’ve thought murder was imminent.”

“It’s never been exactly _safe_ to mix those two, you know.”

“It’s gone from unsafe to actively dangerous. Do something. Please.”

Varric gave her a sardonic look. “Me? Why not Hawke?”

“I know you’re not stupid, Varric. Between Anders’ turning funny colors every time Hawke’s name comes up and the fact that Fenris is wearing Hawke’s insignia on his belt... no. I’m not getting mixed up in that particular mess, thank you.”

“Instead, you want me to do it? Thanks.”

“Come on, Varric. Hawke actually listens to you. Sometimes. Maker knows why.”

“You’re not convincing me to do you any favors.”

Aveline made an angry noise. “Just... keep them from actual murder, all right? That’s all I ask.”

“Can I have a detachment of guards as backup?”

“If this keeps up you’ll have them whether you want them or not.”

“Let me get a few hours of sleep and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

**

“So he’s a murdering psychopath with no human feelings and _he’s_ a possessed mage who represents all that’s wrong with today’s world. Do I have that straight? Good. Now the two of you are going to sit here until one of you tells me what set off this latest round of ‘you’re the bigger monster’, or I’ll send Rivaini in here and lock the door behind me.”

**

Aveline opened the door of her office to find a dwarf, once again, in comfortable residence and leafing through the reports she had left locked securely within her desk.

“Varric!”

“I told you to change the locks. Besides, how am I supposed to keep on top of things without the occasional bit of research?”

“At least have the decency of stopping your snooping when I come through the door. I could have you arrested for this. In fact, I should.”

Varric gave her a wicked smile. “But you won’t. You owe me a favor.”

“Words to strike terror into any heart. Wait, does that mean you solved the problem of the feuding lunatics?” Aveline gave a sigh of relief and moved toward the desk.

Prudently putting down the reports and moving away from her chair, Varric waited until she was seated. “Sort of. They’re never going to be friends or even capable of basic politeness, I think. I can promise that there’ll be no more displays of overt hostility - at least publicly.”

“So I can tell the patrols in both areas to keep an eye out for familiar bodies stuffed behind abandoned crates in the alleys of Darktown then?”

“You mean they don’t already?”

“Varric, I need a solution.”

“Barring the direct intervention of the Maker, I think you’ll have to settle for a lower key of hostility. This all has nothing to do with Hawke, you know?”

“You are an accomplished liar, Varric, but even I don’t believe that.”

“Well - not as much as you might think, then. They just hate each other and he’s another excuse.”

“It’s not a very good excuse.”

“It is to them. I think that all of this came to a head when we headed into the Fade together. It shook everyone up and we’re _all_ acting a little more emotionally than we’re comfortable with - and I don’t have even half the reason they do.” Varric folded his arms and rocked slowly back onto his heels. “I think that if we can improve Hawke’s mood somewhat, he can manage our feuding extremists and I can get back to my writing.”

“What, testosterone charged scuffling over the hero is good enough for your epic?”

“Sadly, no - but I’m working on it.”

“I really, really don’t want to know.”

“That’s what they all say.”

**

_“You listen to the sorrows of us all, Champion. Who listens to you?”_

_“I have no sorrow so great that I must unburden myself on those who already spend their hours aiding those in greater need.”_

_“It must be a lonely life.”_

_“Sometimes. In truth, those who surround me have become my family, and aid me by their very presence.”_

_Note to self, spend more time with Daisy and less with Aveline. Hawke doesn’t sound like that - and neither does Daisy. Much. Sounds more like something that’d come from the Choir Boy. Consider a lighter, more comic approach for this section._

**

"What is so important that I had to come all the way across town just for a drink?"

"Fine first words to a friend." Varric put one hand on his chest in a melodramatic display of wounded betrayal. “Especially one you haven’t spoken to in weeks.”

"Hello Varric. It's pleasant to see you. I notice you've done some redecorating." Hawke's pronouncement was deadpan as he glanced around the room. It was true, ever since their trip to the Deep Roads, Varric had put some actual effort into his room at the Hanged Man. There were several urns he hadn't seen before, a stack of books and a great deal of scattered paper on the table and even a few on the floor. A huge, heavy curtain hid the bed at the end of the room and the table beside it held a pile of correspondence to dwarf, pardon the pun, Hawke's own. "Why am I here?"

"A drink isn't reason enough?"

"I have a fine wine cellar, most of it purchased from you. At a substantial mark-up, I suspect." Hawke said, folding his arms. "You’re usually happy enough to drink it right where it is. You're up to something."

"That I am." Varric poured a glass of wine and offered it to Hawke. "Here, a reward for your epic journey all the way from Hightown. This is a vintage I know even you don't have."

Reluctantly, Hawke took it.

"Now, let's talk about what happened in the Fade."

Hawke drained the entire glass, setting it down on the low table with a decisive click. "You don't know what you're asking."

"On the contrary. I was there for the entire thing, Hawke. I was the _only_ one to make it that far, and even I have no real idea what happened in there – but you do." Varric reached to refill the glass. "I still have nightmares and, let me remind you, Dwarves don't _dream_. I want to know why. I don't use the word 'owe' lightly or often, but in this case it applies. You asked me to walk into that madness for you and I did. Explain it to me. Please."

“I can’t.” Hawke took the full glass, holding it between his hands. “If it hadn’t been for Feynrial’s presence holding the entire thing together, I don’t even know if we would’ve seen the same things.”

“Is that why you took Blondie? To have someone else who would know what was going on?” Varric pointed to a seat beside the table and Hawke dropped into it, almost spilling wine everywhere. “Because that wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Not the worst, either.” Hawke took another deep swallow of wine before visibly forcing himself to relax. “Tell me, Varric, do you know what the Harrowing is?”

Finding a glass of his own, Varric chose a seat. “No. I’ve heard the word before, but it’s a mage thing, or so I understand. No one will actually talk about it.”

“There’s a reason for that. The Harrowing is a rite they put young mages through and if they fail, they are either killed or made Tranquil.” Hawke took another swallow of wine. “The short version is that they shove apprentice mages, unwarned and unprepared, into the Fade to meet a demon. If they survive, unpossessed, they pass.”

“... and you told the Keeper that you’d been in the Fade before.”

“I did.”

“And there’s a story there I’d probably kill to know... and judging by the look on your face, you’d kill me for asking. Pass, then. So you knew the risk we were taking?” Varric shifted in his seat, eyes wide.

Hawke shrugged, not meeting Varric’s gaze. “I thought there would be no danger to my companions, that I would remain the primary target of the demons. I was wrong.”

“You might say that, yes. Blondie’s pet spirit tried to eat your face and then the elf went for your throat. Not what I’d call a low risk environment, overall. What if something had happened to me? You’d’ve been alone in there with the demons.”

“I wasn’t afraid.”

“And that scares the shit out of me. Why did you do it? Why did you bait that first demon? Why didn’t the second one try to suck you in, or me? Why did the third one go for the elf? Talk to me, Hawke. I really, really need to understand.”

“Because it would make for a wonderful story, no doubt.” Hawke laughed bitterly. “It’s not that easy, Varric.”

“Nightmares. Horrors that I’d never share with any audience, given a choice. Tell me what really happened. I need to know.”

“The first one... was obvious. It wanted a straight up deal and, had I been a different person, I might very well have given in. The second one was preying on Feynriel’s losses - and of the three of us, I don’t think there was a really good target for it to set its teeth into. It just wanted to punish us for interfering.”

“And the last one went straight for the elf. It offered him something he wanted - and he took it.”

Hawke shrugged. “That’s the danger of demons. They will always offer the thing you most desire, always reach for the lever most likely to move you. Fenris has only a few years of past, the majority of that time spent as a tool and weapon with no will of his own and no control over any aspect of his life. He’s accustomed to unquestioning obedience and that made him the easiest target of the three of us. Stronger wills than his have submitted for lesser reward.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that he was willing to kill you for it?”

“He wasn’t. It was Anders all over again. Once they have you....”

“Once they have you _what_?”

There was a long, awkward silence as Hawke stared down into his wine. “I’m not afraid of possession, of the demons taking me over. It’s not because I believe that blood magic is some kind of protection from it, or even that I’d ever consider blood magic. It’s because a demon will promise you your heart’s desire - but you have to let them in.”

Varric waited, expectantly, but no further words seemed forthcoming. “Are you saying that there’s nothing you desire? Nothing that they could promise you? That’s a bit... broad, isn’t it? I mean, I saw what happened to the elf. There’s always something.”

“Is there.”

“Hawke?”

“Did you hear it? What it offered me?” There was something raw in Hawke’s voice. “Money, power... a demon can’t give you _anything_ , Varric. It can only take. All you have to do is look at the madness of the blood mages. After a certain point, they have no control, no will of their own, no understanding that their acts have destroyed the very things they wanted most to save. They can’t even regret their acts, if they’re truly aware of them in the first place.”

“Like that Harriman woman?”

“She was destroying her own family, blinded by the demon’s promises that she was actually getting exactly what she wanted.” Hawke finished his wine and refilled the glass. “The Chantry and the templars, they believe it takes your soul - I’m not sure I believe that, but the result is more or less the same. What a demon takes away is … it’s everything you are. It will sometimes give you what you asked for, but in return it will take over your mind - your self. You are reduced to a slave, one who no longer has even the dream of freedom to sustain them. You aren’t even aware that you are a slave, and it unravels your will until you’re nothing but an extension of _them_. That’s what an abomination is, Varric, a husk drained entirely of humanity and filled with a ravening hunger and hate for those who still have everything it lost, everything it gave away.”

“This isn’t going to help me with my nightmares, Hawke. It might actually make them worse.”

“It should. As for the demon in the Fade, even if it had managed to find a lever by which to move me... I couldn’t. I can imagine no greater horror than to no longer have control over myself and, in return, what? The release of a creature that will rend and destroy everything I ever loved? No. There is nothing worth that. _Nothing_.”

Varric waited, but Hawke seemed to have run out of words, his hands on the glass having tightened into a grip that consisted mostly of white knuckles.

“And we didn’t have that knowledge, that defense. Is that what this is about? Guilt?”

“Maybe. Anders knew.”

“And tried to kill you when he thought you’d slipped.”

“It was the right decision.”

“It would’ve been if you hadn’t been bluffing, but how was he to know?”

Hawke laughed bitterly. “He wasn’t. It was a risk.”

“A cruel one.”

“I didn’t know what would happen, but I couldn’t just leave the boy there. I _couldn’t_. I had to do what I could with what we found.” Hawke drained his glass again.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Varric reached to shove the bottle well out of Hawke’s reach. “So it is about guilt. Which betrayal is eating at you more? Blondie’s lack of trust? The elf’s inability to choose you over his past? Or is it your own ability to cut them both down without knowing what that would do to them?”

“I think this conversation is over.” Hawke rose abruptly to his feet, leaving his glass teetering dangerously at the edge of the table. “Nightmares or no, nothing followed any of us out of the Fade. The demons that touched us are dead, and that’s the end of it.”

“Nightmares, Hawke? You?”

“Good night, Varric.”

Varric watched him go, chin in one hand and a frown settled deeply on his face. When the sound of booted feet on the stairs died away, he rose. “Right. Well, that was illuminating, don’t you think?”

The curtain concealing the bed was jerked back, revealing a pair of eavesdroppers, one of whom was glowing a somewhat disturbing blue.

“Blondie, if you don’t turn that off right now, I might be tempted to shoot you myself.”

“You... allowed a demon to _touch_ you, accepted its offer, tried to _kill_ him, kill them and you _dare_ -”

“Glass houses.” There came the familiar sound of Bianca unfolding. “Stop. Now.”

The crackling energy faded somewhat, but Anders still had a disturbing blue glint in his eyes as he turned on Varric.

“You tried to kill Hawke first, Blondie - and you’re sharing headspace with what the rest of us would call a demon, no matter how you try to excuse it. Don’t try to pull any self-righteous shit here. Back down. Now.” There was no trace of humor on Varric’s face as he looked down the length of his crossbow at Anders. “ _Everybody_ fucked that one up, and we’re all paying for it. Don’t you dare blame anyone else for their actions. You at least knew what we were walking into. The elf and I were completely blind-sided.”

“He’s right.”

“Thank you, nice to know that you -”

“No.” Fenris rose to his feet. “ _Anders_ is right.”

In the shocked silence that followed this pronouncement, Fenris walked from the room.

“What...?”

**

“Do you seriously call that ‘helping’?”

“It was supposed to put things in perspective. How was I to know they’d take it like that?” Varric shrugged uncomfortably. “Clearing the air, seeing everyone in the same boat. I thought it’d level the playing field a little.”

“Fenris isn’t speaking to anyone, Anders will probably try to kill him on sight, and Merrill tried to cheer Hawke up and he made her cry.” Aveline glared down at Varric. “You couldn’t have just, I don’t know, talked him into sleeping with Isabela or something instead of, of _this_?”

“I think her smugness at such a victory would drive _me_ to murder,” Varric retorted. “Do you think you can do better?”

“I think I could hardly do worse.”

“If you can get this unraveled, I’ll acknowledge you as the master. Mistress.”

“If you _ever_ call me your mistress, I’ll see to it that all your stories from here on out are rendered in falsetto.”

“So noted.”

**

The sound of raised voices could be heard echoing in the alleys that passed for streets in Darktown, and Aveline quickened her pace. She recognized both voices, even if she couldn’t make out any of the words, and while the guards would normally studiously avoid any argument involving at least one of the two, this definitely qualified as a disturbance of the peace.

At least outright violence seemed yet to break out.

The stairs and outer area of the clinic were deserted, and she didn’t try for stealth or subtlety as she strode across to the entrance to the inner clinic.

“- defend him? How could you possibly believe that he won’t turn on you again?”

“He was tempted, not possessed, and it’s not any of your business. Fenris is my problem and I’ll deal with him.”

“I can guess how you ‘deal’ with him, and it’s blinded you to the very real danger! He speaks out at every turn against mages and how they’re all evil and work blood magic and yet the very first time he encounters a demon -”

“Technically, it was the fourth time. Or possibly the fifth.”

“Stop defending him!”

“If I hold him accountable for what happened in the Fade, I will be forced to apply the same standard to you. Is that what you want?”

“I want you to see him for the danger that he is. I want you to admit that he’s a hypocrite and a backstabber.”

“He’s never tried to stab me in the back. It's always been more of a full frontal assault.”

“Stop trying to make everything into a joke! Nothing about this is funny.”

“If you have a dark sense of humor, maybe.”

Aveline paused in the doorway, suddenly uncertain as to the wisdom of interrupting this particular argument. Anders wasn’t glowing, yet, but he was certainly not exercising much in the way of self-control. He and Hawke were almost nose to nose, but as Anders’ volume rose, Hawke’s was dropping. Somehow she didn’t find that reassuring.

“This is deadly serious. You’re putting yourself and the rest of us in danger by continuing to associate with him. What if he decides that I’m a threat, or Merrill? Will you still defend him then?”

“You are a threat. So is Merrill. So am I.” Hawke shrugged. “If I had to morally justify everything that went on around me, Isabela and Varric alone would have been the death of me years ago - and have you _met_ my uncle?"

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You’re not blind to their flaws because you’re not sleeping with them.”

“I’m not sleeping with him, either.” Hawke’s voice was suddenly flat. “But even if I were, I would not be stupid enough to blind myself to the risks of such a relationship or, indeed, any relationship. If Fenris wanted to be rid of the lot of us, all he would have to do is go straight to the Knight Commander and offer us up. He knows where you live, but I’ve yet to see you dragged away by the templars.”

“You’re not sleeping with him.” Anders laughed sharply. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s at the core of this. You don’t believe me or, perhaps, you don’t believe in me.” Hawke took a long slow breath and then let it out. He stepped forward, one hand resting against Anders’ chest. “I can’t be anything other than what I am, and I know that it’s not enough, that I can’t be what it is you want me to be.”

“Hawke, I -” Whatever protest or agreement Anders had been about to make was silenced by an aggressive kiss.

“I’m sorry, Anders.”

Aveline stood aside as Hawke moved past her into the alleys of Darktown, leaving a somewhat deflated Anders in his wake.

“Well. That was unexpected.” Aveline turned to look at Anders more closely. “Are you all right?”

“No.”

“I suppose not. _Will_ you be all right?”

“I don’t know. What’s wrong with him, Aveline?”

“From this vantage? Not much.”

“Why does everyone feel the need to turn this into a joke?”

“Because it’s easier than crying. Anders, what’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

Anders sank back to lean against one of the clinic tables. “It’s true. There might’ve been, or almost was, but....”

“But?”

“He was right. He can’t be what I want him to be.”

“You have to love someone for who they are, Anders, not for who they might become.”

“You’re hardly comforting.”

“I’m not trying to be. I agree that Fenris is a problem, but this is not the way to handle it.” Aveline shook her head. “I’ll keep tabs on him. In return, I want you to stay away from him until you can keep yourself under some kind of control.”

“I - thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m going to be watching you as well.”

**

_Perhaps the passions which drove the Champion were held too closely, the restraint needed to keep control of himself and his magic also prevented him from forming a true connection with those surrounding him._

_We held him to a different standard, brought him our problems and expected him to solve them with the trust of children during their first Chantry service. We came when he called, but rarely did that call have anything to do with the Champion's own needs. Selfishly, perhaps, we assumed that he was above the petty complications and difficulties that surrounded us and never considered that he had all of those things, and ours as well, weighing him down._

_Petty bickering and infighting being the least of it._

_Note to self: Scratch that last bit. It's hardly heroic and certainly not at all epic._

**

“You’re kidding.”

“I don’t joke about this sort of thing, Varric.” Aveline frowned down at the dwarf. “Of course I’m going to have someone watching them both. I have been all along.”

“No, I mean... Hawke _kissed_ him? I was so sure that -”

“ _Varric_!”

“Maybe Rivaini was right. Too much repression can lead interesting places, and while that applies to Fenris it can also work with Anders. Star-crossed lovers are one thing, but this... this has potential.”

“Varric, you will not mix things up further just so you can have a really juicy love story. I will have you arrested and thrown into the deepest cells I can find.”

“I just want Hawke to be happy.”

“Liar.”

“Well... I _also_ want Hawke to be happy.”

“Fair enough, but I mean it about the cells. If I catch one whiff of you or your minions getting mixed up in this any further, I will arrest you all.”

“I understand.”

“You mean you’re just going to try harder not to get caught,” Aveline said.

“More or less.”

“I was afraid of that.”

**

“I had to wait almost a week, but I bribed Rivaini to start a bar brawl. It cost me quite a bit of coin, but it was worth it. The fight spilled out onto the docks and called for most of the guard to bring order. Aveline had to pull every guard watching any of us - and so here I am.”

Hawke had put his head in his hands somewhere between Varric’s recitation of Isabela’s attempts to take advantage of Fenris’ and Anders’ lack of involvement, and kept it there through the rest of the story. As a silence stretched between them, Varric waited patiently for some further reaction.

“Why?”

“Why?” Varric blinked. “Because I’m worried about you. You’ve been acting a bit weird ever since the Fade and, disclaimers of demon possession aside, even Merrill is starting to wonder.”

“Wonder what it is that goes on behind the supposedly closed doors of my bedchamber? Thank you, Varric. That’s just what I needed.”

“Cheer up, Hawke. We’ve all been wondering. Now that we know, of course, it hasn’t actually dampened anyone’s curiosity. Hmm. Not an improvement, I’m guessing?”

“I may save Aveline the trouble of locking you up and simply throttle you here and now.”

“No need to resort to violence! Dwarves are notoriously hard to strangle. Save your energy for other things,” Varric said.

“I haven’t _got_ any ‘other things’.”

“Which is probably why you’re so cranky. Maybe you should - no strangling!”

Hawke settled back into his chair, glaring darkly. “This was enough of a mess before you managed to involve everyone I know in this, this lunacy.”

“Might as well make the best of it. Tell me exactly what happened - and leave no juicy detail unexplored.”

“No.”

“No? Then I’ll just have to make something up.”

“No.”

“But if you’re not sleeping with... oh ho! _He_ left _you_ and you’re still -”

“That’s it. Out, before I see just how far I can toss you,” Hawke said.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Ask Isabela about that.”

“Fine, I’m going - but don’t think you’ve heard the last of this,” Varric said.

“I know where you sleep, Varric.”

“Touche.”

**

“It’s been weeks, and you’re telling me that you haven’t made any progress at all? Varric, that’s not like you,” Isabela said.

“There comes a time when wisdom demands that you step away. For perspective, you understand.”

“And not because he threatened to toss you from his doorstep?”

“That might have had something to do with it. Don’t you have sailors to sleep with, Rivaini?”

“This is far more interesting, at least for the moment. You must have some ideas.”

“None that I’m willing to risk my friendship with Hawke over.”

“Maybe I should talk to him about it? I mean, he is my friend too.”

“Only if you want him slinging you bodily into the street. Again,” Varric said.

“Then again, a wise dwarf of my acquaintance once spoke of waiting in order to gain perspective.”

“I thought you’d see it my way.”

**

“Fenris, I know you’re in here somewhere. You will get your skinny elf ass down here right now, or I will drag you out by your ears!”

Isabela had been trying to get a response out of Fenris for almost half an hour, stalking through the darkened mansion and calling his name. She was beginning to lose patience.

“Fenris, this is an _emergency_.”

The voice, when it came, was directly behind her. “Like the time you came here in the small hours of the morning with an ‘emergency’ need for me to kill the people following you after you cheated them? Or the ‘emergency’ that had you plunging the entire city into civil war? Or perhaps it is an ‘emergency’ like the one where I woke to find you in my bedroom, with a desperate need for, how did you put it, my ‘sword’ in your ‘sheath’?”

Isabela whirled, a dagger in one hand. “An emergency that requires your presence at Hawke’s place. Right now.”

Fenris frowned at her. “And what sort of emergency would that be?”

“Remember the DuPuis creep? The blood mage and the lilies and the kidnapped women?”

“Yes?”

“Then you’re not going to like the rest of this story.”

**

The small group gathered outside Hawke’s mansion weren’t even trying to be inconspicuous. Aveline had brought four guards, there were a suspicious number of seedy looking characters lurking around the edges of the square and only Merrill and Anders appeared to have arrived unaccompanied. Sebastian was nowhere to be found, perhaps because Varric had told him, in no uncertain terms, that the Chantry’s traditional spiritual comfort to the bereaved was probably not exactly what was needed in this particular case.

“Or at least to give Hawke a week to pull himself back together before offering to pray with him. That’s not the sort of thing Hawke will find comforting - at least not right away. I swear, sometimes the boy lets his devotion get in the way of his common sense.”

Bodahn had refused entrance to anyone, even Varric, on the grounds that the house was in mourning and ‘the master isn’t feeling well’. No one had really wanted to press matters, not with Sandal standing just behind his adopted father, rocking back and forth on his heels and making distressed sounds.

The small crowd took notice when Fenris entered the square, Isabela at his heels, but only Anders was brave enough, or foolish enough, to put himself in the elf’s way.

“Just where have you been?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

Anders didn’t move, squaring his shoulders. “You can’t just -”

The sound of an armored fist meeting flesh and muscle was almost more shocking than the actual sight of Anders folding over and falling to the ground. Fenris stepped directly over him and stalked to the door of Hawke’s mansion. It opened without a single protest from within and slammed with a crash behind him.

Merrill moved first, racing to hover over Anders. “Are you all right?”

“That’s a silly question.” Aveline made haste to dismiss her guards.

“So was what Anders did. Did you see the look on Fenris’ face?” Isabela was looking after the vanished Fenris, impressed. “ _I_ wouldn’t have gotten between him and wherever he was going.”

“I’m all for valor, Blondie, but that was far closer to attempted suicide.” Varric peered around Merrill. “Can you breathe yet?”

Anders gave voice to a somewhat squeaky affirmative, weakly attempting to fend off Merrill’s ministering attempts as he fought to bring his lungs back under some sort of conscious control.

“Is this dramatic enough for you, Varric?” Isabela raised an eyebrow. “Or do you feel the need to sneak in there and take notes?”

“Seeing what happened to Blondie, I think that discretion is probably the smart choice. On the bright side, the elf didn’t actually push his fist _through_ anything. Or anyone. Probably a good sign.”

“It was still assault.”

“I dare you to press charges, Aveline.”

“Don’t push me, Varric.”

**

"Writer's block, Varric? You? It's hard to believe."

"I'm telling you, Daisy, conflict and angst are the building blocks of a wonderful story, but for once my heart's just not in it."

"Well, it would be harder when it's people you know," Merrill said.

"I keep forgetting what a sheltered life you've led."

"But Hawke's your friend. Don't you want him to be happy?"

Varric sighed. "Happy endings are so common as to be completely unmemorable. A true heroic epic just has to end in tears."

"That's not very nice." Merrill frowned at him. "Really, Varric, I'm disappointed in you."

“Take that frown from your face, Daisy. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Then stop hoping for bad things to happen.” Merrill folded her arms and attempted a glare.

“Sweetheart, if I told you why I was having trouble writing, you’d probably slap me.”

“No, I don’t think so. Isabela said that you were helping her find a way to, how did she express it, now...? Oh yes. Help her to ‘bring all the best ships into her port’.”

“Never, _ever_ say that again.”

“What?”

“Maybe you should start spending more time with Aveline.”

“Isabela says -”

“And there’s another phrase that should be eradicated from your vocabulary.” Varric raised his eyes and hands to the heavens. “Maker. I’m too young to be a father.”

“What?”

“Daisy, Rivaini isn’t exactly the best example of how a young lady should speak or behave. I can’t _believe_ we’re having this conversation, by the way. If you must take your cues on how to operate in human society from someone we both know, go with Aveline. _Please_.”

“She certainly is... forceful?”

“She can also walk into almost any place in town and have people give her respect, and it has nothing to do with her armor and position. Well, almost nothing.”

“But Isabela -”

“Is more fun, yes I know. Is this how Hawke feels, I wonder?”

“What?”

“Never mind, Daisy. Let’s talk about something else.”

**

“Varric, this is all your fault.”

He looked up from the now customary spread of paper to blink with surprise. “What is?”

“This... obsession with Hawke’s love life. I don’t obsess about what people do for fun, unless I plan on having them do it with me, of course.” Isabela dropped into a chair and scowled at Varric. “You’ve made me all _curious_ , and as neither of them will open their mouths to say more than ‘go away, Isabela’, it’s driving me mad.”

“You can hardly blame me for that.”

“Oh can’t I? After Fenris’ little performance last month, I would’ve sworn the comfort he was there to offer was completely of the physical variety, but Hawke’s still gloomy and they still won’t look at each other. Well, not when the other one might catch them at it. What’s going on?”

Varric carefully gathered his papers, well aware that he’d get no more writing done. “What makes you think that I know?”

“Because you’re Varric, and because when I tried to bribe Bodahn for the information, he muttered something about you promising to hang him up by his toes if he, and I quote here, he told ‘anyone _else_ ’ about what went on that night.”

“Look Rivaini, if you want to indulge in hypothetical guessing games, I’ll play along. There are going to be a few ground rules, and I’ll expect you to hold to them. No matter how amusing I may find your company, it wasn’t that long ago you left all of us high and dry.”

“I came back. I even said I was sorry.”

“I don’t remember that second bit, but still. Your return is the only reason we’re having this conversation so pleasantly and not through some sort of arcane connection with whatever afterlife you’re doubtlessly going to end up in. Rules, Rivaini. The first of which is that you won’t share whatever speculation we might hatch with _anyone_.”

“What about - “

“Writing, pantomime, interpretative dance... it’s all out of bounds. Don’t do it. Playing games amongst ourselves is one thing. Gossip on this topic could rebound to burn us both very badly, to say nothing of the equally flaming death of the bridges between us and most of our friends.”

“You can take the fun out of anything, you know that?”

“Oh, it’ll still be fun - it’ll be a secret. I know how much you love secrets.”

“Sweet talker.”

Varric finished clearing away his various notes and gestured for a drink. “And one for the la- woman.”

“You’re buying, after that crack. You’re also going to start talking. What happened after Aveline made us all go home?”

“That’s where things get confusing, actually. According to Bodahn, he heard about two minutes of conversation and then a lot of silence. He’s willing to swear that there wasn’t even a single creak of bedsprings after the conversation stopped.” Varric made a face at her and rubbed his forehead. “I’m not normally the sort to speculate on what my many and varied male friends get up to in their various bedrooms, unless it would make for a really juicy story, but... I just don’t get it.”

“Hmmm. Maybe Fenris did something all blue and glowy in the bedroom? That might kill the mood, considering what he normally does to people when he’s that color. Then again -”

“Focus, please.”

“You have to admit -”

“No, no I don’t. Besides,” Varric leaned back in his chair, watching her speculatively. “ _He_ left Hawke, not the other way around.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s the point in our conversation when Hawke decided to hurl me bodily from the house, or at least offered to make the attempt.”

“The sex can’t possibly be _that_ bad. I mean, word at the Blooming Rose is that Hawke is a lot of fun between the sheets. Or on top of them. Or against nearby walls. Or-”

“Who, exactly, told you that? I couldn’t get any of them to comment on anything other than his habit of handing out loans and never asking for the money back.”

Isabela gave him a wicked grin. “Pillow talk. A lady never tells.”

“You’re no lady.”

“Then I’ll take refuge in saying that I promised to hold it in the strictest confidence.” She turned to gesture for another drink. “Besides, for all that he ends up there now and again, it seems he’s mostly notorious for showing up to pay his uncle’s overdue bills or bar tab and then leaving again. It’s not as if he’s down there nightly, plowing his way through the various staff, though he’d certainly be welcome if he did.”

“It’s a whorehouse. As long as he pays up, he’s welcome to do a lot of things.”

“Maybe he _was_ seeing Anders professionally.”

Varric snorted. “Why would he need to? I’d think if Hawke were carrying on at the Blooming Rose, there’d be a lot less disease in this town overall. You could pitch _that_ to Anders, if you like. If he hid at the Blooming Rose he’d have as much work as he could handle, a bunch of very happy whores and enough blackmail material to keep him safe for the rest of his life.”

“Then I could see his disapproval three or even four times as often. No, thank you.”

“It was a thought.”

“Here’s another one for you.” Isabela leaned back in her chair and gave him a thoughtful frown. “Fenris’ scars are still painful. To the touch, I mean.”

“And where did you get that little tidbit? The Blooming Rose again?”

“Personal experience. I ‘tripped’ and he caught me.”

“And you took advantage.”

“Of course I did. I took hold of his arms, leaned in - and he winced. I looked down, and I could see blue under my fingers.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “That sounds unpleasant.”

“Well, it could lend itself to some very interesting bedroom antics, but I somehow don’t think he’s into pain as a form of recreation. Pity. Anders, on the other hand...?”

“And once again, we venture into territory I’d prefer to leave safely unexplored. Focus, Rivaini.”

“But it’s such potentially entertaining territory.”

“Why don’t you make a visit to the Blooming Rose and we can discuss this once you’ve calmed down a little?”

“Varric, you have the _best_ ideas.”

**

“You’re not serious.”

“You’re not giving it a chance, Aveline. You haven’t even read half of it.”

“Varric, your juicy love triangle is … I’m sorry. I don’t even know who these people are. You may say you’re writing about Hawke and his complicated love life, but I can’t find the faintest resemblance.”

“Rivaini liked it.”

“She can read?”

“There’s no need to be like that.”

“My opinion is that you should burn this, immediately, and never let anyone else see it.” Aveline put the papers down and pushed them toward Varric. “If you must write about it, you could try for something more dignified than, than _that_.”

“Well, I’ll admit that I’ve never tried to write a kinky threesome between men before, but... was it really that bad?”

Aveline glared at him. “I refuse to comment on the quality, because you will find some way to make me pay for my opinion. The difficulty is that I can’t imagine anything that would drive Fenris and Anders into the same bed. Ever.”

“True love makes people do strange -”

“No. Absolutely not. Not only do I not believe that there’s any ‘true love’ floating around in _any_ of this, given the amount of petty fighting and sulking, but the idea of Anders and Fenris...? No.”

Varric scowled at her. “Oh come on. People eat that stuff up. Neither of them can give up Hawke entirely, so -”

“I’ve _read_ it Varric, much to my shame. No.”

“But-”

“They’ll know who wrote it. Perhaps we should wager on who would manage to murder you first?”

“You may have a point after all.”

“I thought so.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

**

“- never thought I’d hear you say _that_.”

“Well it’s true.” Isabela picked up an abandoned flagon of ale, sniffed it, and took a swig. “There are places even I won’t go, and he went there. From the sound of it, more than once.”

“I don’t even like to think about it.”

“It does sort of take the shine off all our various imaginings, doesn’t it?”

Avenline shuddered, reaching to take the flagon from Isabela. Ignoring the pirate’s ‘hey’ of protest, she took a healthy swallow herself. “I’m going to be remembering that in my _dreams_.”

“That’s usually my line, and it’s more like nightmares.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The sound of the door opening had Aveline reaching for her sword, the menace of the movement somewhat lessened by the flagon still in her other hand. Isabela peered past her and gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, there you are.”

“What in the name of Andraste’s tits went on _here_? My tavern... my beautiful tavern.”

“Have a seat, Varric.”

“Have a drink, Varric,” Aveline said.

“And don’t slip in the blood.”

“Blood. And … that looks like a demon to me, or what’s left of one, and who...?”

“Just drink, Varric.” Isabela moved around the bar and helped herself to the alcohol. “Lots of drink. It’ll help.”

“Who did this? I’ll - I’ll -!”

Aveline took a mug, grabbed Varric’s hand and forced him to take it. “Hawke did that, with the aid of Fenris, Isabela and myself. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that Fenris did this and we helped.”

“We’ve had a rather disturbing afternoon.” Isabela got Aveline a drink as well. “To put it mildly.”

“Someone had better explain this to me.” Varric looked around the empty tavern, taking in the carnage and wincing at the sight of broken tables and something unsavory burning in the coals of the fireplace. “Wait... isn’t that a Tevinter -”

“It is. Drink, Varric. I’m going to need at least two more before I want to talk about it.” Aveline was as good as her word, draining the tankard that Isabela had handed her and reaching for another.

Isabela had ten of them lined up on the bar by then. She came back to join them before finding herself a perch on the edge of the bar and reaching for one herself. “That magister was a dirty old man, to put it mildly.”

“Fenris’ magister? Danarius? And they had to fight it out in my tavern?”

“Stop mourning for your tavern, Varric. I live here too, you know.” Isabela scowled at him. “You might stop for a moment and try asking if everyone is all right or if we buried Fenris out back after it was all over, or if Hawke got himself dragged away by Tevinter slavers.”

“Or even the other way around.” Aveline looked down at her blood splattered armor with a sigh. “That was unpleasant all the way around.”

“Around what?” Varric finally took a swig of his own drink. “What, exactly, happened?”

“Well, Danarius implied that -”

“Not until I’ve had at least one more drink,” Aveline announced flatly.

“No one’s asking _you_ to talk about it,” Isabela said. “That dirty old Tevinter mage implied not only that Hawke was enjoying Fenris’ company in more ways than one, but -”

“Damn it, Isabela.” Aveline set down her half-empty tankard with a crash. “I really don’t need any more disturbing mental images.”

“- but that he knew all about that company, and had spent a lot of time enjoying it himself.” Isabela took a long swallow of her own ale. “And may I just say, ‘ew’?”

“Ew isn’t anywhere near strong enough.” Aveline said. “And neither is this ale. But we don’t know how much of what they said is true.”

“Did you _see_ Fenris’ face? That part, at least, was completely true. It makes you wonder what happened to erase that ‘fondness’.”

“Not going to think about that. Ever.”

Varric cleared his throat, in an attempt to get the conversation back on track. “So where are they?”

“Who?” Isabela passed Aveline another tankard, taking the empty one and hurling it at the corpse on the floor.

“Hawke and Fenris. _Did_ you have to bury one, or both of them, out back? Not that it’s possible with all the stonework, but I’m curious.”

“Fenris stormed out of here in unspent, murderous fury.” Isabela gave Varric an exaggerated frown. “I hope his sister skipped town in a hurry, because if he runs across her before she gets a ship back to Tevinter, our Guard Captain _will_ be having a body in need of hiding.”

“Hide it? I might just set fire to it.”

Varric blinked. “Aveline?”

“You didn’t see what happened here this afternoon, Varric. I’ve never been so tempted to commit murder. That back-stabbing, ungrateful little two-faced toad. Freedom’s too hard, is it? I’ll give _her_ freedom.”

Isabela patted Aveline’s shoulder. “Hawke, well... he left after Fenris did, but whether he was giving chase or just going home, I couldn’t tell you. He and Fenris can’t exchange two words lately without it becoming a shouting match, and with all that went on here today?”

“How about we all sit down and you tell me exactly what happened?”

“Well, I was getting a drink at the bar, minding my own business....”

**

“What do you mean he’s not back yet?”

Bodahn made a ‘shhh’ gesture with both hands and glanced warily over his shoulder. “He never came back last night. Or this morning. There’s a stack of messages and we’ve had four callers and I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve no idea where he might be?”

“None at all. He left just after breakfast, saying he was going to run an errand for that elf, the one with the bad temper, and never came back.” Bodahn glanced over his shoulder again. “I heard there was trouble in Lowtown?”

“You know, things do happen in Kirkwall that don’t involve Hawke.”

“If you say so.”

“Cheer up, Bodahn. I’m sure he’ll be back in the morning.”

“Who will be back in the morning? Varric, what’ve I told you about bothering the people who live under my roof?”

“Master Hawke! There’s been some letters, and -”

“I’ll take care of it.” Hawke gave Varric a thoughtful look. “Why don’t you and I have a drink?”

“Will this one end with your threatening to have me thrown to the cobblestones?” Varric watched Bodahn hasten out of earshot and sighed.

“That would depend on you, wouldn’t it?”

“Wonderful.”

**

_Perhaps it is fitting that the Champion’s story ends as it does. The drama and bloodshed surrounding the destruction of the Circle and the fall of the Knight-Commander closes the curtains on a performance of legend._

_Kirkwall’s bitter division had been sealed with blood and of all the city’s leaders, only the Champion was left standing. No one could call it a happy ending, but an ending it certainly was. There is no mystery to his subsequent disappearance. Kirkwall had claimed the lives of his family, of people he respected and trusted. He had faced betrayal, heartbreak and found himself forced into a choice that brought only more death and misery with it._

_The only mystery is what kept him in Kirkwall so long, struggling to keep a balance with his efforts undermined at every turn by both sides. Perhaps, in the end, it was the crater and tumbled ruins of the Chantry that caused him to turn his back on Kirkwall for good. The lingering ghost of a beloved friend and the grief and guilt brought about by a belief that the choosing of another path might have averted that tragedy and the deaths that followed...._

**

“That’s depressing.” Isabela looked over the top of the page at Varric. “No one’s going to write bar songs about this one.”

“It’s not meant to end in sunshine and roses. It’s an epic.”

“That’s not the point. This is like no one wanting to read about the hero just breaking up with someone and moving on. You have to have a good, solid ending - and I don’t mean, ‘so they wandered away into the sunset together, hand in hand, having happy elf sex in the green fields with all the wildflowers’.”

“Please, Rivaini, I just ate.”

“This sucks, Varric.”

“You have no understanding of high art.”

“Maybe, but I know what I like, and this ending stinks.” Isabela made a face. “Have another drink. Have two. Burn these last few pages and start again.”

“ - and they lived happily ever after?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

“Just... go get those drinks. I’ll see what I can do.” Varric sighed and picked up a fresh piece of paper. “Happy elf sex. What’s _wrong_ with you, woman?”

“Well, it all started after that last trip to Orlais. I told myself that I wouldn’t sleep with that harbormaster again, but he did offer me a deal. It was then that I started breaking out in these _huge_ -”

“Drinks, Rivaini. Now. And we will never speak of this again.”


End file.
